


I'm an animal (you're an animal too)

by scorpiod



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about foxes and coyotes; they’re both tricksters (or: in which Kira and Malia go on an impromptu roadtrip, just shy of high school graduation).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm an animal (you're an animal too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbrunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/gifts).



> Much thanks to my beta for looking this over very last minute. Title taken from Neko Case's _I'm an Animal_.

They left left behind the woodsy forest and lakes of Beacon Hills county and gone far past it, now driving down a dull, dusty stretch of highway, surrounded by the occasional farm house, brownish crops, bitten off fences—more plains than anything else, but California is a big state, and the scenery changes quickly around here, beach to forest to desert—but not fast enough, not for Malia.

Malia makes a constant _tap tap tap_ noise, a loud shuffling sound of claws against the dashboard or a softer scritch against her seat’s interior, the occasional bone creak of knuckles cracking. Kira’s worried she’s going to tear her interior, if she keeps running her claws against the seat, or scratch up the plastic dashboard. _Can you put those away?_ Kira asked her, ten minutes into this trip, the _clack clack clack_ of coyote claws against the glass making her grit her teeth, and Malia nodded. Then she kept doing it, but at least it wasn’t against the glass anymore.

 _If you’re bored, you didn't have to come_ , Kira wants to say, but that’s not fair. It’s not as if she wants to be alone.

They left Beacon Hills behind a good forty or so miles ago, but Kira still doesn’t feel any better, running out on her graduation; she’s never been one to run away from a fight (run towards it, sword in hand, terrified but adrenaline pumping through her to propel her forward; but this isn’t a fight she’s running from).

Malia shifts from side to side in her seat next to her, like a kid who hates being told to sit still, moving her legs and arms and seating position every five minutes; legs under her, one leg folder under her, slouched in her chair, seat pushed back, legs on the dashboard, one then two. Changing every five minutes. She was like this too, Kira remembers, on the trip back to Mexico; first thirty or so minutes were alright but the car effectively a steel cage for her, a little too tight around the edges, and it doesn’t matter she’s gotten a little less feral since then.

Kira won’t say it out loud, but it’s a distracting, the constant moving of Malia in the corner of her eye; it’s hard enough to focus on the road in front of her and trying to keep her breathing even without the ever restless movement.

Kira’s never driven on a highway before; not for this long. She’s been in the back seat or passenger seat, while Scott or Stiles or Lydia drove, but she and Malia and Liam were new to the pack and they generally not the ones on long high way drives. She remembers she drove part of the way home, on the way back from Mexico, but it was only for a couple of hours and Kira knows this trip will be longer than that. 

The five lanes terrify her, which is ridiculous—berserkers and oni and rampaging werejaguars are all infinitely more dangerous but it’s different when she has a katana to defend herself with, when the sparks in her hands can open up the world and create a barrier around her, then suck up all the energy back into herself. That’s different than shaking hands on a steering wheel; there’s a difference between fighting and guiding herself around the world. (she can fight but she doesn’t know if she can guide herself).

The cars zip past her on the road. Kira bites her lip, worried she’s not driving fast enough, if she’s going too slow for the fast lane, but she’s at the speed limit, 65 on California highways, but everyone still feels faster than her. It makes her feel like she’s doing something wrong, irrationally worry a cop’s going to pull her over for going to slow, like she messed up somewhere along the way, read the rules wrong.

“Are you okay?” Kira asks, trying to keep herself from thinking too much. 

Fifty five minutes on the road and Malia hasn’t said much, except to ask about when they’re stopping to eat, watching the road and different cities zip by her when she’s not trying to change positions.

“These seats are hard,” Malia complains.

Kira cringes. “Sorry. It’s kind of an old car.” Kira saved up for it herself, bought the cheapest car on the lot; it was falling apart when she got it, but she fixed it herself. She read books on how to fix cars, trying to understand the theory, and then when she was ready, she put her hands over the engine parts and tried to will eletric life into it until it spurred into action (she couldn’t fix the seats, though, upholstery wasn’t something she can do with kitsune powers).

(at the end of the day, she still has no idea what a kitsune is; no matter what she tries to learn, there’s always something more)

She can always ask her mom, of course. If she wanted to do that.

But that’s how she ended up on this roadtrip.

Eventually, Malia just props her legs on the dashboard, tilting the seat back, one leg hanging out the window, popping her heel like she’s dancing on one foot in the air.

“That’s dangerous,” Kira says. She saw a movie where a woman got her leg cut off that way. Malia seems relaxed though, basking in the sunlight, more cat than coyote. For a second, Kira is drawn to how her legs looks, long and tanned, with the sun casting a glow on her skin, like Malia was glowing from the inside, had her own light inside of her. Her legs were exposed up to mid thigh because Malia was wearing her short shorts, too warm to cover up too much.

 _Eyes on the road_ , Kira tells herself, trying hard not to stare for safety reasons and because her thoughts would turn inappropriate soon.

“Is that why you’re nervous?” Malia asks

“I’m not nervous,” she protests. Kira swallows thickly, wondering if Malia caught her staring, heard what she was thinking, or god forbid, _smelled_ it somehow. 

“Your heart is beating like a little jackrabbit,” Malia says, wrinkling her nose. Kira wants to ask if she’s ever eaten a jackrabbit, but the answer is most likely yes. “You reek of anxiety.”

Kira turns away. Eyes on the road. She can’t look at Malia for long, throat choked suddenly.

“I’m nervous because I’ve never been on a highway like this before.” 

“Oh,” Malia says, making a cluck noise in her throat.

“And also because I am technically running off on my parents and my friends two days before graduation,” she says, running the words too quickly together, as if they could only come out of her all at once.

It’s not even technical; that is actually what she’s doing.

Malia shrugs, turning to look at the boring scenery outside. Her voice is low and deceptively pleasant. “It’s not as if I’m graduating.” 

Malia flunked senior year. Kira frowns, wishing she hadn’t brought up graduation; she’d take bored Malia over her staring out into space with a detached distance in her eyes. She was there the day Malia came back from class with her news, her face set in hard lines but bottom lip quivering and her hands curled, fingers pressed tightly against her palms. It’s not a big deal, she said, her voice shaky, and when she extended her fingers and palm outwards, her palm was bleeding from where she cut herself. Kira couldn’t help but think of all the times she’d helped her study, trying to help her brain organize dates for history ( _dates are always hard, Kira told her, and stupid_ ), how happy Malia was when she got a C on a test instead of a D.

Kira fumbles with the radio, looking for something fun to listen too, something to take her mind off things, take Malia’s mind of things, but she doesn’t know when the alt music station is on this part of the state.

“Where are we going?” Malia asks, chewing on her cheek.

Kira shrugs. “I don’t know. Somewhere. Where do you want to go?”

Another shrug. “You lead the way. Like I know where any place is.”

The thing is, neither does Kira. 

Kira doesn’t know where she’s going, or very much about being a kitsune. Or much of anything.

All she knows is that her mom said she was going to live forever and it’s strangling her.

*

In a small room in a big house that’s only been theirs for a little over a year, her mother sits her down and calmly explains she’ll live forever.

Well, that’s not what she says, exactly; she builds to it, telling her that kitsune can live for a long time, that kitsune are tricksters (the way mom looked at her, when she said that, it made Kira’s skin itch, not liking the way she seemed to be implying something, seemed to _know_ more than what she was saying).

And Kira nods, because she knows, she’s always known. She might have known it when she first picked up a sword and stabbed the nogitsune with it, when she got thrown against a wall and got right back up, when she’s almost as quick as Scott sometimes. She’s been testing and experimenting, doing her own research, rewiring electricity and lighting the world up with foxfire.

( _a kitsune has nine tails; cut them all off and you’re mortal. Like I am now_ ).

 _Like I am now_ , her mother says, and Kira knows she’s thinking of her dad, who is only forty years old, who is going to die much sooner than her mom would have, if she didn’t sacrifice her tails, but there’s a strange happiness her voice. _Like I am now_ , like it’s a relief, to not go on another more hundred years.

Kira knows this, has known this for awhile, ever since her mom told her she was nine hundred years old and Kira told her she’d never trust her again.

Kira doesn’t have tails yet, but she will. If she focuses enough, lets her mind go, lets herself go, she can see the fox surrounding her, a golden glow that’s a part of her, doesn’t need a camera anymore. She’s stronger with fox fire now, can set things on fire with a controlled precision she’s mastered (she has not figured out how to shift into an actual fox yet; that ability still lost to her).

( _you’ll live, not forever, but for a very long time, if you take care of yourself_ )

Kira somehow, knew this, somewhere, in the back of her head. It’s just that—

She’s fought enough monsters that she never questioned her healing rates but she’s eighteen now and graduating high school and there’s a whole wide road of possibilities open to everyone, but she knows her road goes on longer than anyone else’s, longer than Scott or Malia or Stiles or Lydia or her parents; the entire world stretches wide before her, and it feels like it’s going to swallow her whole.

*

In a gas station, Kira shoplifts a candy bar and a pack of sour worms.

She hightails it out of there. Her heart is pounding, fear and anxiety and excitement all mixing in to create an adrenaline cocktail in her veins.

(a part of her hopes she gets arrested, thrown behind bars, just to see what it’d be like; she bets she could probably escape and grins at the thought, even as she worries, even as she thinks, _I’m not this person_ )

They’d probably just call her parents anyway.

“Why did you do that for?” Malia asks casually, a blue-red sour worm half in her mouth, hanging out, sprinkles of sugar on her shirt. She’s grinning as they drive out of there, like Kira’s adrenaline is contagious, and they got away with something more than convenience store snacks. “Are we thieves now?” She waggles her eyebrows. “Partners in crime?”

The thought sends a shiver through Kira, despite herself. Her hands shake on the wheel.

“Maybe?” She says, in a breathy voice. “If you want?” _Do you want to be my partner_ , Kira thinks and pushes that thought away, as quick as it came.

Kira’s hand hovers over the steering wheel, not touching it, reckless endangerment for a split second, trusting her feet on the accelerator and brakes. Little bursts of foxfire come out, running along her fingertips and sparking the leather covering.

Malia stares, grinning; more thrilled than concerned about the lack of two hands over the wheel.

“I’m a kitsune,” Kira says by way of explanation. _We’re tricksters_.

*

They stop in Chico, a good two hours of east of Beacon Hills.

Chico is a college town, home to god knows how many students, made up of mainly bars and coffeeshops and a giant farmer’s market, with CSU Chico at the center of it. Kira didn’t apply here but she knows Stiles and Scott did, looking for places close to home.

Kira could go anywhere she wanted; maybe, if she played her cards right, she could go to college over and over, once she figures out how to stop aging like her mom did. Get a degree in English, then another in biochem, then try her hand at learning another language, or brush up on her Korean.

Kira hates, a little, how excited she is at the prospect, being able to do all those things. Like she’s somehow betraying something fundamentally human, to want that. 

She bites her lip, shoves the thought down into her chest, looks over at Malia, already getting out of the car the moment Kira shut the engine off. They’re parked outside, in one of those community parking places with terrible prices, where you have to pay dollars for overnight, and four dollars for just an hour. 

“God, there’s so much pollen in the air,” Malia says, nose twitching.

“Good thing neither of us are allergic,” Kira says, fumbling with her phone. She has three missed calls and several more texts, and she can’t stand to read them because they make her feel like turning back and apologizing for being a flake, for being the kind of person that just takes off in the middle of the day. _I’m sorry I gave in to my trickster nature_ , she almost says out loud, biting her tongue and shaking while Malia stares at her funny.

She’s not sorry. She wants to keep driving.

“I’m going to make a phone call, stay here,” she says, walking off to the distance between the other parked cars, looking for a little privacy, though it’s not as if Malia wouldn’t be able to hear her no matter where she goes. There’s really no point in trying to pretend there’s any lines in the sand.

Malia shouts something unintelligible at her but Kira is already dialing.

Scott picks up right away, just like she thought he would. “Are you okay? Is everything okay, where are you?”

(she calls Scott, and not her parents, not anyone else, because it doesn’t matter that they’re not together anymore, that they’re broken up, going separate directions—it’s hard to think of a more comforting presence than Scott)

“I’m okay,” she says, taking a deep breath, trying to will the guilty feelings away. And then another. And another.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m with Malia,” Kira blurts out. She’s not sure why it feels like revealing a secret, telling Scott something he’s not supposed to know, even though everyone must have seen them both get in the car together.

“Oh,” Scott says. It sounds odd, the way he says it, all drawn out, like it was multiple syllables. “Where are you? Your parents are really worried.”

“Tell them I’m fine,” she says. “I’m not hurt, I’m just...” A lingering pause as she tries to figure it out herself. “I’m going for a drive.” 

“With Malia?” Scott asks, and Kira tries not to read an accusation into his voice. She’s projecting. It’s unfair.

She glances back at Malia, who, true to her word, has not moved, but rather is looking at Kira with her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. _What’s taking so long?_

“Yeah, with Malia. She wanted to come with me.”

“Okay,” Scott says. “Come back soon? Graduation is in two days.”

As if Kira forgot. 

He doesn’t ask her why she left in the first place and she is grateful for it.

“I will,” she says, and hangs up before Scott asks anymore questions.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” Malia asks, looking around. “This place smells fresh. There’s a wing place down the street, I’m starved.”

“I should get you back home,” Kira says, frowning. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Malia shakes her head. “Neither are you.” 

It’s hard to argue with that, especially when she doesn’t want to argue—she wants to take Malia by the hand and drag her everywhere, keep her in the car like a safety blanket.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” she says, but smiling, can’t help it.

_Your dad is going to kill me. I am the bad influence._

_I am the trickster spirit._

Kira giggles randomly, at her own internal joke. Malia doesn’t seem to think it’s weird.

“My dad’s mad I flunked senior year,” she says, her mouth twisted in a smile, broad. It’s the first time she’s smiled about that, and not been bitterly angry. “I figure, he can eat it.”

“Malia,” Kira says, but she doesn’t have an argument. It’s not as if she wants to be alone.

Kira nods, and takes Malia’s hand. She’s warm and sweaty, sticking to her palm.

*

Malia drags her to a college frat party later, after wandering around and ending up on the college campus. A _happy graduation_ party, for all the graduating college seniors in the frat, banners strung up around the frat house and hanging from the rafters, purple and yellow balloons strung about, red plastic cups that thankfully just smelled of illegal tequila mixed with fruit. The party was filled with people who were probably too old to be staring at them for so long, drinking scorpions and smelling like weed smoke.

Kira thinks it’s an exercise in masochism, making her rethink her “college forever” plans, but Malia wants to play beer pong and she doesn’t really mind watching her dance—even if the music is loud enough to hurt her ears.

 _“Are you the next year’s crop of freshman girls?_ ” someone who hands her a red cup asks, glancing at her up and down. Kira’s going to answer, but Malia comes out of nowhere and snarls—not a regular snarl but something lower, from her chest and the guy backs off.

“Thanks,” Kira says, turning bright pink. She thinks she deserves to be snarled at too, the way she keeps staring at Malia’s legs and her tight shirt, like she might fall over even though she hasn’t had a sip of alcohol yet.

“Come dance with me!” Malia shouts at her over the music, grabbing her by the shoulders. There’s a moment that hangs in the air, where Kira’s not really paying attention, just looking at Malia’s bright eyes, her hands on her, and she feels like she’s floating. Kira swears she can feel electrical impulses all over her skin, shuddering up her spine, hoping Malia’s hand will slide down to the small of her back.

She just wants breathe Malia into herself.

Kira shakes her head, apologizing under her breath. She goes off to find a bottle of alcohol somewhere instead. Kira ends up sneaking into the back kitchen and stealing one of the unopened bottles of vodka, snatching it when no one’s looking, telling herself she’s a kitsune and stealing some alcohol is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

Kira drinks until the world becomes a gentle smear around her, like a watercolor painting from the 18th century, soothing and soft to the eye—but that eventually turns to nausea. The watercolor paints swirl, until it’s a Jackson Pollack painting instead, but less precise, less measured, child’s first attempt at finger painting. The colors swirl into an ugly brown purple mess in her head, the way it does when people who don’t know anything about color theory try to mix them.

She ends up puking into a toilet, thinking about how she doesn’t know how to paint. Malia strokes the hair back from her face so she doesn’t get any puke in it, running her fingers gently over her face, the curve of her jaw. Kira doesn’t know where she came from.

“Vodka is so bad,” Kira moans. _Why did I think I could take it?_ “I don’t know anything about painting. I’m a terrible kitsune.”

“Stiles told me this is what happens when people drink too much,” Malia says. Her voice sounds fuzzy, like there’s cotton in Kira’s ears. She focuses instead on her fingers on her face, trying to tether herself to that sensation. “I wouldn’t know. I thought getting drunk was supposed to be fun.”

“It is until it isn’t,” Kira says with labored breathing, before she dry heaves into the toilet bowl again. 

Kira’s dizzy when it’s over, the room spinning. It feels like the only safe place is the toilet bowl, resting her face against the cool porcelain, trying to ignore the stomach-churning smell of puke. Malia’s hands are on her face and her lower back, heat she can feel even through her sticky shirt, and Kira smiles.

“Why did you go with me?” she murmurs softly.

“We’re friends,” Malia says.

*

She wakes up in her car, sleepy and tired and not fully awake. The sun is her eyes and she can hear birds chirping outside, like a maddening constant beeping, a more natural alarm. Malia’s head resting on her boobs, like they’re a pillow.

“Uh,” Kira says but she can’t make herself shove Malia away. Her head is warm, tilted to the side, cheek pressed on Kira’s chest. Her eyes closed and her mouth is pressed to the fabric of her shirt. Kira’s top isn’t low cut, her cheek just pressed to the fabric of her shirt but Kira’s sweating—from the heat and the close body contact—and the shirt feels like it’s clinging to her body, and that’s hardly much separating Malia from her skin.

“You’re drooling,” Kira says, her cheeks hot, looking at the slight string of saliva at the corner of Malia’s mouth.

Malia makes a soft noise, like a purr, but coyotes don’t purr. It’s low and content, though, and Kira strokes her hair back instead, her forehead cool. “Thanks for taking care of me last night,” she says.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Malia says, muffled words whispered into her skin.

“Then you fell asleep on my boobs?”

“You’re more comfortable than the front seat.”

Sometimes Malia forgets the concept of personal space, difficult to discern what’s acceptable contact between friends or what’s not. She’s gotten a lot better about it, but Kira knows that Malia would want to be corrected if she overstepped her boundaries.

Kira should tell her no, but she keeps on stroking her hair instead.

*

Driving with a hangover is painful—the throbbing headache, the bright lights, the vague sense of nausea she still feels in her belly, even though she has nothing left to puke. She thought being a supernatural creature would mitigate it, but maybe she’s not old enough to handle it yet. It takes Kira awhile to get the car out of the parking lot and onto the highway, picking whichever direction that doesn’t lead back to Beacon Hills. 

“You could just let me drive,” Malia says, “Stiles taught me over the summer break.”

Kira feels like a bad friend for telling her no, the way Malia’s face crumbles. She’s been in a car before with Malia behind the wheel, and she’s a competent driver but still hasn’t quite grasped the concept of traffic laws or obtaining a driver’s license.

She tries to ease the let down by stopping at a Denny’s down the road while her hangover calms down. Denny’s is crap, Kira’s always thought, but it’s the kind of crap hungover teenagers eat.

Kira just wants a milkshake and toast. Malia orders a huge stack of pancakes. Kira’s paying for this with her credit card, the one her parents entrusted her to at the start of senior year. For a moment, she thinks she should be worried about how much this is going to cost, the entire trip. 

She’ll run up the credit limit, she decides, as far as she can take it. She has the rest of her long life to pay it off anyway.

“Do you wanna drive back?” Kira asks. “Graduation is tomorrow.”

“Why should I care about graduation?” Malia asks, arching an eyebrow. “I'm not graduating.”

She’s smiling but there’s something bitter in her voice, sharp clipped tone. The words bite at her lips.

 _I’m sorry_ , Kira wants to say, but she knows Malia doesn’t want to hear it.

Kira shrugs, uncomfortable, regretting she brought it up . “Stiles is. So are Scott and Lydia. If you wanted to watch.”

“And you?”

“I am too,” she says, sipping the blueberry milkshake. Not bad for Denny’s, all things considered. Her standards have gotten lower. “I mean. I passed all my tests. I’m done with anything that actually matters.”

“So you want to go back?”

Kira checks her cell phone. 10:04 a.m. It is the last day of school now, and she’s missing graduation rehearsal—standing and sitting still all day long, interspersed with some walking as they do a practice run with Pomp and Circumstance playing, until lunch time rolls around, then they all go home early. It’s tedious as hell. Malia wouldn’t even be invited. 

Being hungover is better.

“No,” she says. “I’m going to keep driving. I’ll go back eventually.”

Eventually is a wonderful word, one you don’t have to commit to, just let it hang in the air. _Eventually_. Maybe in two days. Maybe a month from now.

The thought gives her shivers, being on the road for a month. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. A strange kind of freedom she’s never felt.

“Then I’ll stay too,” Malia says, a string of maple syrup running down her chin.

Kira reaches out to wipe it off, then licks the syrup off her hand. Malia just stares at her, eyes dark and intense.

They make a stop at Krispy Kreme’s before they set off on the highway, loading up on sugary, heart attack donuts that are entirely too unhealthy to be consumed all at once, splitting a dozen two ways.

*

“Remember Mexico?” Malia asks. 

Malia has the window down, gusts of air blowing through her hair, turning it messy and bedraggled, flying in her face, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her fingers drum along the side of the car, her hand slightly out the window, fingertips tapping over and over.

Outside, they’re on highway 99 and driving past an apple orchard, rows of trees and trees, greenery as far as the eyes can see. Kira imagines pulling over and running in between the trees, like a small forest to get lost in, even momentarily. She’d get arrested, probably, or kicked out at the very least, but there’s no fence, no barrier to keep her out.

“Yeah,” Kira says. It was a while ago and she tries not to think about it, going back to rescue Derek or rescue Scott. Getting kidnapped and locked up and electrocuting Scott. Fighting berserkers. Not the best of memories, but she knows what Malia is talking about—the club with the pulsing music and gyrating bodies, Kira feeling like she didn’t belong in the slightest, couldn’t speak the language, worried out of her mind. 

She remembers wrapping her arms around the back of Malia’s head, the infectious giggling that started and couldn’t stop. The way Malia leaned in to sniff her throat and Kira tilted her head back to let her. Malia’s hand curling possessively on her hip, holding her steady and anchoring her. Kira had no idea how to move on a dancefloor so she just moved with Malia.

At least, Kira thinks that’s what Malia’s talking about, asking about Mexico. Maybe it’s Kira’s brain that just goes there, because she’s a pervert with a stupid crush she doesn’t want to think about.

“Maybe we can go again,” Malia says, hopefully, glancing at Kira, her hand curling in her hair and tugging slightly.

“I didn’t bring my passport.” Kira says. Maybe she should have. Go to Mexico. Go to Canada too. Go anywhere.

“We can always sneak over,” Malia says, her eyes gleaming. “We snuck in the last time.”

“Maybe,” Kira says, but doesn’t commit to anything. Maybe’s enough for now.

On a whim, she drives off to the side of the road, trying to make sure she’s not in the way of the other cars before pulling over.

“What are you doing?” Malia asks, sitting up.

Kira gets out of the car, feeling a little shaky, but mostly just excited, smirking back at Malia. “You wanna run through those trees?”

Malia’s eyes turn bright blue and they share a grin as they sprint off into the distance.

*

Hours later, they’re in San Francisco and Malia is actually a little shy, wondrous of the big city, staring at the tall skyscrapers and buildings as they drive in. Biggest city so far they’ve hit, and hard to drive around in. The roads curve in unnatural ways, zigzagging in places, making wrong turns onto one way streets. The hills are so tall, they look like they go on forever, stretching endlessly upward.

“You okay?” Kira asks Malia.

“I’ve been in Beacon Hills all my life,” she says, giggling a little.

Kira’s been here before, several times, just to visit. They almost moved here once, when her family was considering coming to California but her mom decided on Beacon Hills instead. She’s lived in New York for a long while, Washington before that, used to big cities. Her family lived in Osaka, when she was a baby, but she doesn’t remember that.

San Francisco isn’t that familiar to her but she knows enough to find her way around eventually.

“I’ll show you around,” Kira says, grabbing Malia by the hand once she finds a public parking lot, spending another excessive amount of cash to pay for parking. Malia’s fingers cling to her, wrapping tight around her wrist.

Malia complains about the smell of the street, the amount of people—too crowded, too many people, smells like moldy trash and fish.

“We were at a party last night,” Kira says, “I’m pretty sure my puke smelled worse.” But Malia shakes her head and frowns, her nose twitching and lips curling. 

“No, no, that’s different. It was a _house_ ,” she says. “I swear I can smell the waste and sewage.”

Kira ends up taking her to the pier. There’s a lot of people there too, but there’s fresh water and fresh fish, and the smell of fresh coffee permeating the air from a near by coffeeshop. Malia dips her feet into the water, dangles her feet over the edge until Kira sits with her too, taking her shoes off. They sit there next to each other, holding hands and watching the water ripple until a security guard tells them they’re not supposed to do that.

Malia doesn’t much care for window shopping but she humors Kira when she takes her to the souvenir shops, watching her as Kira parses through the gifts. 

“What is the point if you can’t keep it?” She asks.

“The point is to look around,” Kira says, pointing to some glass figurine of a fairy. “Look, isn’t that pretty?”

Malia shrugs, hands in her short pockets. “I’ve seen prettier.”

Kira tugs at her lower lip, staring at Malia, who’s’ staring back at her with a hooded look in her eyes. 

“Do you think fairies are real?” Kira asks, changing the subject. It seems like they should be, if everything else is—werewolves and kitsunes and werecoyotes and kanimas. Maybe fairies are too.

Malia shrugs. “Fuck if know.”

They get new clothes though, because the two of them are still in their outfits from yesterday and they’re starting to smell. The bottom rung of Kira’s shirt is still coated in a little bit of faded puke that hopefully only Malia can recognize. They didn’t pack anything, just took the clothes on their back and their backpacks from school. 

Kira just got in the car and was ready to drive off with nothing but her car phone charger, going straight from school to wherever the road takes her, not wanting to go back home. She spent the whole day at school distant, distracted, thinking about what mom said about living for a long, long time and trying not to cry. 

Malia walked in and shut the passenger side door before Kira could leave the parking lot, like she belonged there, at her side.

“I’m going for a drive,” Kira said.

“I know,” Malia said. “Can I come?”

She didn’t tell her to leave, to get out of the car. She didn’t even bother to drop her off at home, which Kira knew she should do. All things considered, she wanted the company.

*

They leave San Francisco when it starts to get dark. Kira would rather pull into a motel for the night, but she doesn’t know the city _that well_ and it’s hard to find a hotel that’s not overpriced and too expensive. She doesn’t want to run her credit card limit so much that she’d have to go back home tomorrow.

Even if that’s probably what she should do.

“Are we going back home?” Malia asks her as she pulls into the highway, heading south instead of north, her head cocked.

“Nope,” Kira says. Malia smiles and turns up the radio.

They don’t end up finding a hotel, this late at night. There’s plenty by the side of the road but they all look expensive and overly priced, not the cheap ones Kira needs. She ends up in Sausalito, a little town by the bay just outside of San Francisco, driving aimlessly looking for a place to pull over.

“I don’t know where to go,” she says, lost. The streetlights are on, casting a glow down on them both, lighting Malia’s face a strange orange tone.

“We can just sleep here,” she says. “We slept in a car last night.”

“I _passed out_ in a car last night,” Kira says. 

“Same difference.”

Eventually she parks the car near a park, and hopes no one comes looking for them, no cop gets in their face and tells them to move along.

“This can’t be safe,” Kira says, biting her lip. 

“We’ll be okay,” Malia says, grinning at her. “We’re coyote and fox, remember?”

The way Malia says it, with her grin splitting her face wide open, it makes Kira’s insides flutter. _Dangerous, is that what they are?_ She thinks of Malia snarling at the gross dude last night, and can’t help but share the grin, feeling suddenly giddy. “Do you wanna take the backseat?”

“I’ll stay here,” Malia says, which makes Kira frown a bit, but she climbs in the back of the car, stretching out while Malia tilts the passenger seat back a bit to sleep.

Or they try to at least. Kira shifts and moves around, the back seat more uncomfortable when she’s not drunk and artificially passed out. Her insides are spinning and twisting on her, body buzzing, like the coffee from hours ago was still in system, keeping her awake and twitchy. Her stomach’s in knots for no reason. She could have kept driving.

“I can smell you,” Malia says, softly but the sound carries. It feels loud, in the quiet car on the quiet street.

“What do I smell like?” Kira asks, not pretending to be asleep.

“Restless,” Malia says. “You’re all sweet scented and kind of bubbling in the air. I can almost taste you in the back in my throat.”

“Oh,” Kira says, breathing in and out. Not sure what to say to that. She shifts in place a little, arching her back, legs aching.

“Also, you haven’t showered in two days.”

“So I’m a little rank?” Kira says, stifling a laugh.

“Just a little,” Malia says, laughing out loud. Nothing stifled there. “But I reek too.”

Both of them laugh, a loud rolling noise that fills up the car, like the carbon dioxide they’re both breathing out. It makes her feel better, chest light and fluttery.

“Why are we here, Kira?” Malia asks, and her head pops up on over the seat, though Kira can only see her eyes, like a child, or a hunting predator. “You’re graduating tomorrow.” 

She’ll never make it in time, unless they leave now.

Kira leans back and continues to stare at the ceiling. “You’re not.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Malia asks, and she doesn’t raise her voice but the note of bitterness, the low way it drops in disappointment, makes Kira wish she never brought it up at all. “I don’t feel like going to graduation and watching all my friends move on while I’m still stuck in high school. What’s your excuse?”

Kira’s silent, closing her eyes. She half hopes that Malia will drop it and go to sleep, but when she opens her eyes again, Malia is still there, looking down her.

“You know, kitsunes live a very long time,” Kira explains slowly.

Malia nods but keeps quiet.

“My mom is nine hundred years old,” Kira says, and her chest aches suddenly, because she doesn't like to think about this, never for too long. She spent almost the entire year and a half not thinking about it, about what it means to be a kitsune, just focusing on defending herself, defending other people, that was all that mattered. She spent so much time running around trying to make sure no one died that it didn’t occur to her she could live as long as she wanted.

“So, I’m going to live for nine hundred years probably and...I guess high school graduation is just a blip in my long, long life.”

Her voice chokes. She doesn’t like to think about this. She doesn’t imagine herself some immortal, eternal, all powerful being. She’s just _Kira_ , who can barely talk without making a fool of herself and would still be listening to her iPod and reading a book in the library during lunch if it weren’t for Scott and Stiles and Lydia and Malia.

And she’ll outlive all of them.

Malia doesn’t say anything, her head slowly disappearing behind the seat. Kira doesn’t look at her.

It’s getting colder now in the car, Kira’s hands cool. She doesn’t have anything to cover herself, just extra clothes and a jacket they got in San Francisco that she’s wearing, but she didn’t think to get something like a blanket. Maybe that makes her stupid.

She bites her lip and stares up at the grey thick covering up above her, the cleanest part of her car, with just a few holes poked into it. There’s not much of a view. There’s not much to think about.

Kira’s fingers are restless, lightly tapping her nails against her knee. She can’t sleep like this.

“You still awake?” Malia asks, with the kind of causal certainty that means she knows the answer already, just asking to ask, filling up the space.

“Yeah. You?” Kira asks. She should just climb back in the driver’s seat and keep going, but it’s past midnight and she’s not sure she wants to drive on the busy, dark highway roads or darker backroads this late. She doesn’t even have a destination in mind.

“Yeah,” Malia says. Kira hears a _tap tap tap_ noise, then the rustling sound of shifting around, Malia twisting her seat, bored. Kira sees the seat move more than she feels it, but Malia’s turning around, then coming on over, until she hops into the back seat with her. She lands on top of Kira, their bodies colliding. Malia’s thighs line up against hers, her warmth pressed tight against Kira body, face to face, chest to chest. The breath is knocked out of Kira’s throat.

“What are you doing?” she asks, taking a heavy, hard breath. Her hands move instinctively to Malia’s shoulders, to push her off, but Kira never gets to that point; she ends up just letting them rest on her shoulders, fingers curling in slightly.

Malia’s warm even if she’s still in shorts and a thin t-shirt, warmer than Kira, like a sweater to wrap herself around in, the kind you put on a cold day.

“You’re not sleeping,” Malia says, like that explains anything, and kisses her.

If her body’s warm, her mouth is hot, heated pressure like a landmine, hot tongue licking against her lips, nose bumping together. Malia doesn’t kiss like Scott, or like any boy Kira’s ever kissed, wet and messy from the start, _hungry_. Malia’s fierce and fearless with her mouth and tongue and Kira pushes herself into it, trying to match her, even if she’s not sure what to do—like she momentarily forgot how to kiss and what she’s supposed to do with her mouth. She just lets it fall open, which feels embarrassing and stupid, but Malia makes a noise like a low growl, pleased and lets her tongue flick against hers. 

It makes Kira shiver all way down to her toes, wrapping her arms around Malia’s back, moaning softly. There’s a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest and gut, twisting and churning. Like she swallowed some bird and it’s flapping around inside her.

“Why did you do that?” Kira asks, when Malia pulls away, wide eyed, trying to catch her breath. She licks her lips and can taste Malia on them, still feel her lips on her. Malia is hovering an inch away, her eyes dark and pupils blown. She stares down at Kira with head cocked, looking down Kira’s body like she’s assessing, looking for something. Kira shivers, her arms trembling.

“I thought I’d try it,” Malia says, licking her lips, like a predator. “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

 _Neither have I_ , Kira thinks, not entirely sure what to make of that, uncertainty squirming in her belly. “Is this experimenting then?” she asks carefully.

Malia raises an eyebrow. “It’s kissing. Not an experiment. I want to kiss you. And other stuff.” Malia touches Kira’s collarbone, her touch strangely delicate as her fingers run over the bone, and then slowly slides her hand down to Kira’s hip. Malia lifts her shirt, tentatively, glancing down at Kira’s face for a reaction but she lets her. She only tugs it up to expose her hip bones and Malia’s fingers fit in there like they were made for it, fitting over the dip in her body. Kira shudders, eyes fluttering shut for an instant, but she’s not cold anymore.

 _What kind of other stuff_ , Kira almost asks, her mind conjuring a thousand of possibilities, aching between her legs at the thought but she’s not sure how to actually say it.

“I didn’t know you liked girls,” Kira says instead and instantly feel ridiculous for it. Stupid Kira, should have gone with the other things, _what kind of other stuff_ , because that sounds sexy and seductive and leaves an opening, not fumbling for the right words to say.

Malia just shrugs. “I knew you did though,” she says, casually. Instantly, Kira is blushing, turning a deep red flush that she can feel down to her chest. 

“How—”

“I can smell it,” she says, wrinkling her nose when she grins. It’s very cute, her nose scrunch. Kira’s lips still tingle when Malia kissed her. “Pheromones. It’s not like you have to say anything.”

Malia puts her hand over Kira’s chest. “Your heart is beating so loud. Can I kiss you again?”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since Mexico,” Kira blurts out, embarrassingly fast, but Malia grins at her, leaning down to lick her lips. Her mouth is slower, like now that she’s been granted permission, she can take her time. Kira cups her chin and takes her time with her, slowly learning a new rhythm.

*

In the morning, Kira wakes up with Malia on top of her again, her face tucked into her throat, wrapped around her like a blanket covering her and keeping her safe. Kira feels sticky, covered all over in sweat and grime; from Malia sweating on her, and Kira sweating from the heat and closeness, trapped in the sweltering car. It’s been too long since a shower and she feels like taking a dip somewhere, or at least a need for shampoo and conditioner to straighten out her hair. It’s turning greasy and tangling in knots.

The weight on her is heavy, unmovable but she feels safe and warm, nonetheless. The sun is softly streaming in from outside, bits of light illuminating Malia’s hair, but no one seems to mind or care about where they’re sleeping. No glances in or knocks on their door.

Kira wants to lay back and go back to sleep. To stay in this strange hollow, unreal moment when she’s not fully awake yet, still floating on a dream, soft and hazy.

Malia only wakes up when Kira places her hand on the small of her back, mummering sleepily.

*

“It’s graduation day,” Malia says.

She spits out onto the concrete, having brushed her teeth with convenience store bought toothbrush and toothpaste, and a bottle of water. Malia said she didn’t need a toothbrush, she’s lived out in the wild without a toothbrush and her teeth are perfect, so it’s not as if brushing her teeth is a necessity, but Kira insisted.

Kira keeps staring at her, at the curve of her mouth, the shape her lips form, the strange way they twist when she scrunches up and spits out saliva onto the ground. It’s like her stupid crush got even more out of hand.

“I know,” Kira says. Malia stares at her oddly. She took too long answering.

“So what are you doing then?” Malia says.

Kira looks at her phone. There are more text messages from Scott, Stiles, Lydia, her parents; some frantic, some pleading, some merely just asking her to check in.

Her mother says, _come back soon_ , and not much else; like she understands. For some reason, this bothers Kira the most, like she’s being given freedom rather than claiming it for herself. She wants her mother to be angry with her, to threaten to drag her back kicking and screaming, to least show she’s concerned for her daughter out on the road, pretend she’s a human girl and not a kitsune.

She sends a quick text to Scott, telling him they’re alright and to tell Malia’s dad not to call the cops, they’re both eighteen and this is legal.

“I’m going south,” Kira says, putting her phone away. “Are you?”

Malia’s grin is bright and minty fresh. “Hell yeah.”

*

In a truck stop bathroom, Kira stares at herself in the mirror. She blinks slowly, lets her eyes turn the odd shade of orange, glowing brightly. She’s gotten better at that, controlling it, letting it happen on it’s own, instead of just waiting for power and foxfire to surge within her at the right moment, for adrenaline to kick it out of her.

if she focuses hard enough, she can see it, the fox wrapped around her, bright and strong. Scott said it looked like it was protecting her. It does, but sometimes, she wonders if that’s just her. Some true form she has but doesn’t know how to access.

Malia stands behind her, arms crossed. Her eyes keep darting between Kira’s behind and then meeting Kira’s eyes in her reflection. “Do you have any fox tails?”

Kira shakes her head. “I get them when I’m older, over time.”

Malia steps closer, putting her chin on Kira’s shoulder. She steps through the fox, Kira sees, until it wraps around her too. She wonders if Malia feels it.

“If you had them, and you cut them off, you’d be mortal, right? Could you do that?”

Kira doesn’t even know how or when she’d get fox tails but she shakes her head immediately.

“Why not?”

 _Because it’d like cutting off a limb_ , she thinks, her mind recoiling at the thought.

“Same reason why you want to shift back into a coyote full time sometimes.”

*

Malia kisses her at a gas station, in full view of everyone around them—the cars pulled up outside, the gas station clerk, the person buying a ho-hos and a coke. She tastes like toothpaste and beef jerky, not a winning combination, but it makes her shiver anyway, eyes fluttering shut, forgetting where she is for a moment before she backs away.

“What are you doing?” Kira says, holding on tightly to the sandwich and bag of chips like it’s a shield.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Malia says. Her eyes glance over to the clerk, and Kira hears a low, intimidating growl. The clerk turns away, busying himself with the register. “Why is your heart pounding?” she asks. 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Everything is confusing, pounding and thumping loud within her, like a volcano, Vesuvius on the day of eruption.

(Graduation day should mean something, it should matter in some way, some kind of accomplishment; look, you survived high school, now go and survive the next nine hundred years)

“Do I smell scared?” Kira asks, lifting her head back. Malia is taller than her and sometimes she feels the height difference intensely, being examined and looked down on. She wonders if this is what prey feels like.

“No,” Malia says, leaning in to sniff her throat, like an offering. “You smell excited.”

Kira shudders, bites her tongue. She pays for food and drink and storms out of there, Malia trailing behind her, just barely quick enough for her.

*

At a rest stop just outside of Half Moon Bay, Malia puts her hand on Kira’s breast. It’s over her clothes but there’s nothing tentative about it. Malia squeezes and rubs her thumb over her nipple until it hardens under her touch, her skin too sensitive even though her shirt and bra.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kira says, breathing heavily. Malia has her flat on the back seat, one leg spread to the side and the other hanging down to the floor, Malia in between. Her hips twitch, slightly, like she wants to arch up but there is nothing but Malia’s leg to rub against and she’s trying not to embarrass herself.

“Oh?” Malia says, glancing up. Her eyes are a coyote blue that’s just a little bit dangerous—staring at her like a meal she wants to eat up—and Kira thinks she could feed off this—suck up all the dangerous energy into herself and convert it to electricity and foxfire, until she’s nothing but a ball of lust and desire and adrenaline pounding through her.

“Take off my shirt,” she says. It comes out breathy, barely able get the words out; less of an order and just this side of begging.

Malia tears it a little bit, getting it off too quickly and sloppy, the side of it ripping almost half way up before Kira raises her arms up. The bra _does_ tear—Malia tries to just tug it down, but Kira hears a rip of fabric before it parts in half, split to the side, one side hanging off her and the other just pushed down underneath her breasts.

“Sorry,” Malia says, her cheeks splotchy. Malia’s shirt is off but her bra is still on and Kira supposes it’s a little unfair. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t,” she says, giggling a little, reaching out to unsnap Malia’s bra clasp behind her, letting the straps fall down her arms. “It’s only fair.”

Kira slides a hand to palm her breast, the weight of it heavier than expected in her hand, and feeling strangely shy about it but Malia keeps _staring_ at her, eyes hungry and searching as they take in her topless body.

She feels exposed like that, topless in the back seat of her car, the window half down to let the air in. The cool air hits her small breasts and make her nipples hard and skin goosebump. There’s a flush of red on her face and cheeks and chest—always a little embarrassed when she’s naked.

“How does it feel?” Kira says, panting out a breath as she massages her hand slowly over Malia’s breast, running her fingers slowly and gently over Malia’s nipple and the skin around it.

“Mm-mmm,” Malia says, arching her back and pushing her chest into Kira’s hand, but then she lowers her mouth and starts sucking on her nipple, no preamble or warning at all, staring up at Kira with curious, glowing eyes.

_Have you ever done this before_ , she tries to ask ( _because I haven’t_ ) but the words get lost on her way out, turn into a wordless groan and a gasp. Her cunt throbs under her skirt, the way it twitches with Malia moving her mouth over her, her other hand on Kira’s other breast. She’s not as well coordinated, so it just rests there while she experimentally licks around and over her nipple, but Kira’s light headed over it anyway, entranced by how Malia looks on her as Kira pants, the rise and fall of her own chest, and the warmth of Malia’s mouth. 

She feels dizzy, her heart is pounding loud in her ears. Malia lifts her head away and Kira’s going to say something, something like _what are you doing, don’t stop_ or _that feels really great_ but she runs her tongue on her other nipple, licking it all around before she sucks it into her mouth.

“Malia,” Kira finally moans out loud, grabbing her by the hair, not sure if she’s pushing her head towards her or simply holding her tight. She tangles and intertwines her fingers in her hair, getting both hands in it, accidentally tugging as she clings. Malia nips at her nipple, bites down with blunt teeth and Kira lets out a low whining sound.

“You smell wet,” Malia says when she tugs away. Kira’s nipples are all spit shiny and red now, and there’s saliva running down the sides of her breasts. The cold air on them makes Kira more hyperaware of how exposed she is, keeps thinking about the cars zooming past on the highway just near by, how all it’d take is someone else who needs a break to spot them in the rest stop. “Are you wet?”

Kira does it then, arch up with her hips until she grinds her cunt against Malia’s knee. There’s too many layers of clothes—Malia’s shorts don’t cover her knee but Kira has leggings on that go too high and her skirt covers her too well and it’s just not _enough_.

“Yeah,” Kira groans loudly. “Do you wanna see?”

Malia grins at her like the cat who gets to lick the cream. She makes a low sound in her throat that might be a growl and mostly just turns Kira on more.

Malia rips Kira’s underwear entirely and tugs down the leggings, before she decides to just hike up Kira’s skirt and bunch it around her waist. For a long time she just runs her finger around Kira’s vulva, finger occasionally delving into the slickness of her folds, then tracing the outer lips, smearing the wetness all over Kira’s skin. It’s torturously slow.

“ _Malia_ ,” Kira whines. “What are you doing?”

“You’re really wet,” Malia says, like she’s surprised by it. She sticks a finger in her mouth and sucks. Kira makes a whimpering noise. “You taste kind of sweet. Heavy, but sweet.”

Kira whines and arches her hips, feeling demanding, uncharastically so.

“Okay,” Malia says, giggling at her. She licks a long, experimental stripe against her warm cunt, going up and down, and just barely touching her clit. Kira shivers, grabbing on to Malia’s shoulders tightly, trying hard not to dig her nails in.

“More,” Kira says. “Please,” she says after, catching herself.

Malia laughs. It sends a warm, trembling vibration through her, against her skin, tucked into her inner thighs. “Give me a bit, I’m new at this.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Kira says but she cuts herself off with a groan when Malia licks her again, another long, slow stripe, testing out the waters.

“I like how you taste,” Malia whispers into her folds. She can feel her teeth there, not scraping against the skin but lightly pushing against her, the shape of them.

“How?” Kira asks, out of breath.

“Wild,” she replies and Kira isn’t sure what that means, but Malia slides a finger inside her, pushing up. Kira moans _yes_ and _fuck_ , digging her nails hard into Malia’s back now. Her finger is twisting inside her, her mouth is exclusively on her clit now, sucking at it gently and swirling her heated tongue around it, her lips wet and smacking obscenely as she sucks.

 _Wild_ , she thinks, her skin tight against her bones, something hot and flush curling inside her belly and her spine and going to explode out of her—and then it does, whimpering, whispering Malia’s name, nails scratching her bare shoulders as she comes.

It felt like lightning running through her, electric nerve endings standing on end, ready to shock her.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Malia says after, drawing back on her knees, her eyes wide, mouth shiny and glossy with Kira’s fluids.

“Oh god,” Kira says, not really thinking about it. Too out of it to think anything useful. Her cheeks are hot. Her hair is damp and sticking to her head. Her breasts fall up and down as she pants, and her cunt throbs with spastic aftershocks, still sending small shivers through her and making her shake. “I’m sorry?”

Malia just leans in closer, nose to nose, staring into her eyes. Her hand hovers over Kira’s face and slowly, gently, kisses her, eyes blue.

*

Putting her clothes back on and driving away afterwards feels almost surreal, ridiculous. Her body aches and pulses, especially between her legs, especially now that she's just in her skirt and no underwear. She had an extra shirt and bra, but she didn't buy any new underwear and it feels a little uncomfortable, bare on the seat, the car humming under her, a constant wave of friction.

She wants to do it again and she’s twitchy behind the steering wheel, restless and craving for more.

“You know what Stiles told me?” Malia asks, when Kira pulls into another town, searching for a meal. Kira swears, she can hear Malia’s body humming across the passenger seat, the beating of her heart, without even touching her.

Kira isn’t sure she wants to hear about Malia’s ex-boyfriend right now but she shrugs and smiles at her. when the light is red. “What?”

Malia leans in, presses her mouth against the hollow of her throat, kissing lightly, trailing her lips until she reaches Kira’s mouth. She tastes musky and wet. Malia's hand trails up Kira's bare thigh, under her skirt, creeping slowly until she reaches between her legs with just a few fingers, nudging at her oversensitive folds. Kira thinks she’d swerve and crash the car, if it weren’t for the stoplight holding her still.

“Coyotes are tricksters too.”

*

They get a hotel.

Nothing fancy, some Holiday Inn in a coast side town, too far away from the beach to be that high in price. It has a shower and that is the first priority.

Kira takes the first shower while Malia kicks her shoes off and turns on the TV, flipping channels until she finds something she likes, sprawled out on the bed.

Kira half expects Malia to come join her in the shower, scrubbing the grime and two days’ worth of dirt off her, shampooing her hair. She’s almost disappointed when she doesn’t, like she broke some promise.

“Do you want to stay?” Malia asks when she gets into the shower after. The way she says it, it’s casual, the way someone asks if she wants a glass of water, or if she’s still hungry. Kira worries she's making it too big of a deal, but leaps in anyway— _yes, yes, I want to_ —because Malia is naked, kissing her under the hot water spray.

Malia’s wet (“ _—been like this all day_ ,” she whimpers into Kira’s ear), and it’s easy to slide one finger, then two, into her, her legs parting for her. There's a certain sense of self-satisfaction at how slick she is, the way she clenches up tightly around Kira's fingers.

“Does that feel good?” Kira asks, twisting and scissoring her fingers inside her. Malia groans, tilting her head back. It’s a full bodied and throaty noise, low and husky in a way Kira can’t replicate but she runs her thumb over her clit and feels Malia shake under her hands like a leaf. Her own cunt throbs and twitches, the way Malia looks like pressed up against the shower tile making her ache for more herself; her head is thrown back and hips canted, thrusting into Kira fingers.

“You’re gorgeous,” Kira says, staring at her friend under the shower spray, droplets running down her naked body, looking beautiful and exposed.

Malia just makes a _sound_ that doesn’t sound human, and pulls Kira closer, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in. “Fuck me,” she whispers. Kira’s not sure what to do, but she pushes another finger in, slowly rubbing her thumb against her clit until Malia comes with a snarl, her hands darting out, digging her thankfully human nails into Kira's back until she breaks the skin as she comes.

Kira makes a soft, pained noise, and Malia pulls her nails away.

“Sorry,” she says after, panting, shame-faced and flushed, looking down at the water.

Kira can feel herself healing already. “It’s okay,” she says, touching Malia’s cheek. “We’re okay.”

*

They order a grotesque amount of food—waffles and burgers and fries and chicken tenders and two cokes, both of them starving—and watch stupid movies on the television, flipping through the channels to find something interesting.

Kira glances at her cell phone every now and then. The number of texts is falling down per day, which makes her sad a bit, almost missing the constant worry and stream of messages. It’s almost four in the afternoon and the graduation ceremony should be over by now, people going to parties to celebrate and parents congratulating and hugging their kid.

She feels a pang of guilt, that her dad is not going to her and tell her how proud he is of her. Her mom would know, though, that there’s always college graduation.

“Do we spring for pay per view?” Kira asks, trying to take her mind off things.

Malia shrugs. “If you want?”

Why not, Kira thinks. She can feel it in the base of her spine, tingling and electric hot, _why not_?

It’s why in the middle of some comedy that’s getting dull, Kira kisses Malia. She spends the rest of the movie licking into her mouth, pushing her down on the bed while Maila whines and arches up. 

“Is that okay?” she asks, whenever she wants to touch her.

Malia nods rapidly. “Yeah, yeah c’mon,” she says.

“I want to eat you out too,” Kira says, smirking, feeling more devious than normal, eager and excited.

“Oh god,” Malia says.

The climax of the movie, where the lead and the girl get together, is spent with Kira sliding her tongue in Malia’s wet cunt, burying her face in it until her fluids get all over her chin and her nose bumps against her clit as she tries to lick around. She’s not sure how to do this beyond licking and playing with her clit, but it feels natural, to slowly slide her finger in and run her tongue along the opening, listening to Malia pant and moan above her, her hands roughly tangled in her hair and nails lightly pressing against her scalp.

“Please, fuck,” she whines, pushing her thighs up, her cunt into her mouth until Kira’s face is shoved in it, insistent, on the verge. The movie gets drowned out by Malia’s moans and whimpers as she comes, back arching up before flopping on the bed in release.

Kira pulls back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, panting as well, sitting on her haunches. Malia’s flushed, her newly clean hair a mess and sticking up on her head. 

“We should have just gotten a single,” Kira says.

*

In the middle of the night, they sneak down to the pool.

The pool is technically closed for the night but it’s not as if that’s really a problem for either of them. Kira gets a kick out of disabling the cameras, Malia watching her work with the brightest grin as Kira sends a spark of foxfire into the cameras until they’re fried. Maybe they are partners in crime.

“What else can you do?” She asks. “That’s new.”

“I’m still not sure,” Kira says. “It’s all new to me.”

Malia takes her top off to swim and Kira bites her lip as she stares at her breasts, but then she’s under the water, swimming, kicking her feet and arms around.

Kira takes her top off as well, then slides off her new pants and underwear, jumping into the water naked.

“Jesus!” Kira nearly screams when she hits the water, has to bite her tongue and cut off the last syllable because she’s too loud. “It’s so cold!” She thought the water would feel at least _nice_ , but the pool isn’t even heated, the water not quite icy but far from comfortable.

Malia giggles, butterfly stroking from left to right around her.

“You tricked me!”

“Shush,” she says, “you’re going to get us caught.”

It’s cold but not arctic ocean cold and Kira acclimates, even if it takes a while for her teeth to stop chattering. She stands the edge of the pool while she gets used to the water, Malia swimming around her, occasionally stopping by to kiss the back of her neck before taking another lap around the pool, leaving Kira feeling warmer and slightly flustered.

“I didn’t know you liked to swim,” Kira says.

“I like to run,” Malia says, “but swimming is nice. Especially naked.”

Eventually, Kira gets comfortable enough to lean back and float in the pool, staring up at the night sky. They’re too close to the city to see any stars, just the street lights from near by, the occasional roar of a car zooming past them in the distance.

Malia floats by her, no longer doing laps in the pool, and links her hand with hers, the two of them floating together.

*

They check out the next day, but they don’t go back home.

Kira sends another message to Scott, telling them that they’re both still well and they’re going to keep traveling for awhile.

She’s not sure how long, or where she’s going, but the car is going down 101 South and Kira’s willing to follow it to wherever it’d take them.

In Gilroy, they pull off next to a roadside restaurant.

“Everything smells like garlic out here,” Malia says, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh, pass, drive on by.”

“But they have garlic ice cream.”

“That sounds _disgusting_.”

“You eat raw meat.”

“Yeah,” Malia says, arching an eyebrow. “And garlic ice cream sounds _disgusting_.”

She’s right, of course. Kira takes one lick of the garlic ice cream and cringes. Creamy ice cream goodness and garlic are not flavors that were meant to combine.

They split a platter of ribs instead, Malia getting the mess all over face and cheeks, sucking the juices from her fingers.

Kira keeps trying to dab her face with a napkin compulsively, the barbecue mess getting everywhere, but it’s a lost cause. Malia giggles at her and leans over to lick it off her chin.

“People are staring,” Kira breathes, eyes wide, excitement curling in her belly, like a growing fire.

“I don’t care.”

Neither does Kira.

*

“I always wanted to ask,” Malia says, driving past some more fields, growing crops and the occasional farmhouse on a hill, her window rolled up but tapping her fingers against the glass. “Is Scott’s dick...normal?”

The question both frightens and confuses Kira. “What do you mean?”

“Like, does he have a knot or something?”

Kira chokes on her coke, has to set it down in the cup holder. “Oh my god, no. His dick is perfectly good. Perfectly normal!”

“Oh, okay,” she says, laughing a little, taking a sip of the coke Kira was drinking. “Because I asked Stiles and he just got really red.”

“Oh my god,” Kira repeats to herself. “Is having sex with you some kind requirement before asking this question?”

“Maybe,” Malia says and Kira’s not looking at her but she can hear the smirk in her voice. “Perfectly good, huh? Is that a glowing recommendation?”

“I’m not talking to you about my ex-boyfriend’s dick.”

*

It’s two days after graduation.

They are now in Monterey County, home of beaches and John Steinbeck, aquariums and agriculture everywhere, the salad bowl of the world. It’s a step up from the garlic capital of the world, or at least, that’s what Malia says.

Kira’s still not ready to go back.

She keeps asking Malia, _do you want me to take you back?_ And Malia is starting to glare at her like she’s asking a stupid question. _Of course not_ , she always replies.

She’s starting to think there is no _ready_ , that she might just drive them straight to Mexico and further south, no matter how many parents and friends she worries, that the only thing that could stop her is Malia telling her she wants to turn back.

Kira keeps passing minivans and cars with HAPPY GRADUATION in huge letters on the back, cars painted in school colors and decked out in bubble letters, putting their joy and happiness on their vehicle. Malia doesn’t get angry when she sees these things but sometimes her lip curls, and sometimes she just looks straight down, not bothering to stare at the scenery, curling in on herself.

“Are we dating?” Kira asks.

That’s not actually what she meant to say. She just wanted to take Malia’s mind off things like graduation and summer school, make her think of something else.

She shouldn’t have said it at all because the question now hangs heavy in the air, Malia staring at her like she didn’t hear or misheard, quizzically frowning. Kira can’t make herself say it again. Kira can’t make herself say anything else, staring at the road because she’s not supposed to take her eyes off it, or so she reminds herself. Mainly, she’s can’t look Malia in the eye right now.

She shouldn’t have asked. It took Scott forever to admit they were dating. Kira can wait.

“Yeah,” Malia says softly. “Yeah we are.”

There’s something casual about how Malia says it, not a big deal, nothing to make a fuss over. That used to worry Kira somewhat. Casual felt bad, like it didn’t matter as much as it should have, didn’t mean anything important.

Kira glances at her, taking her eyes off the road momentarily. Malia is beaming, her eyes warm.

Maybe casual is just simplicity. Maybe that’s all that really matters.

*

Somewhere near a tiny town called Soledad, Kira pulls off to the side of the road again.

“Why are we stopping?”

The radio is playing some band she doesn’t like with an unfortunately catchy song. The road looks clear for miles out, going on and on, not much but dust and smaller towns ahead of them, mostly empty. Safe. 

“Do you want to drive?” Kira asks, handing her the keys.

Malia’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

Kira nods. “Yeah, I trust you. I’ve seen you drive before. There’s a lot of empty roads around here. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t go over the speed limit.”

Malia laughs, mostly to herself. “I would have passed the driver’s test, you know,” she says. “Tests are just hard for me.”

“I know,” Kira says, smiling gently.

Kira gets into the passenger seat, relaxing, never noticing how much her arms and legs ached from the constant steering and pressing on the gas pedal until she gets to stretch out in the car. She reclines back in her seat, putting her legs up, thinking about sleeping once Malia gets comfortable with the road.

Before she turns the engine back on, Malia reaches out, grabbing Kira’s hand and feeling her pulse. “I’ll be fine as long as you’re here.”


End file.
